Into this wild Abyss/ The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave--/ Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/ Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/ Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,/ Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith/ He had to cross.

What is strength without a double share of wisdom?

Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.

And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.

Smiles from reason flow, To brute deny'd, and are of love the food.

Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.

Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.